By the Road of Fire
by www.me
Summary: An AU where Merry is not saved from the orcs, but falls into the hands of Sauron. Pippin/Merry, with quite a bit of hurt before the comfort. POVs: Eomer, Aragorn, Pippin. A blend of book and movie verse, though mostly book.


**Notes:** This is an AU that branches off right before Merry and Pippin's escape from the orcs. In the books, a night attack from Eomer distracted the orcs long enough for them to escape. In this version, they attacked just a bit earlier, and Eomer's men found and rescued Pippin, while Merry remained captured. This chapter is in Eomer's POV, the next will be in Aragorn's, then Pippin's. The first two chapters will be slash free, everything after chapter three will be hurt/comfort Pippin/Merry. Enjoy! :)

.

.

.

.

First came the top of Eothain's helmet over the crest of the hill, followed by his heavily armored shoulders, then his horse, then the rest of his men, and it was clear that the night had been a success. The men of Rohan were many – exhausted, yes, but rowdy with victory and causalities minimal, if at all. Eomer stopped taking count, his attention grabbed by the small passenger on Eothian's horse.

"A captive of the orcs," Eothain explained, his horse trotting to rest at Eomer's side.

"And now a captive of our own? Cut the poor child's bonds," said Eomer, seeing the skin around the boy's wrists and ankles were red with irritation under the thick rope. Strange; orcs were not known to take hostages, at least not ones that stayed long enough to require a restraint.

"I am not a child!" cried a queer little voice, not quite a child indeed, but not a man, or a near man, or an elf or -

"A halfing!" said Eomer. He would not have believed it short of seeing the thing with his own eyes.

"Please, they have my friend, another hobbit - halfling, like myself - we were taken together," said the tiny thing. "Please, you must promise me you'll go back for him, or cut me loose now so I can, before it's too late."

"This is why he remains bound," Eothian said. "He made several attempts to return to their camp, almost trampled under foot each time."

"I see," Eomer said. Eomer was a serious man, but not immune to curiosity or strange sights, and perhaps if he had fallen upon a halfling on another day, he would've been keen on more questions and maybe even delighted in the small thing's presence. But on a night such as this, a night of war, it was just an oddity that orcs had taken to collecting halflings, and nothing more.

"The orc party broke," Eothain said. "About two hundred scattered into the forest. The rest maintain their position. The ones that fled carry his halfling friend."

"Do not worry," Eomer said to the small being. "We will lay waste to every orc in Rohan until there are none left to hold anyone captive. You will see your friend again." Eomer then turned to another of his riders. "Take the halfling to camp, cut him free. He will not make any more attempts to escape and give away our position." Eomer held the gaze of the halfling and was pleased to see intelligence there, much like the sort a man has, none of the wildness of a dwarf or otherliness of an elf, or the feral rage of an orc. The halfling's eyes were youthful, even afraid, but earthy and solid and keen, and Eomer knew they had reached an understanding when the little one nodded.

Much of the remaining evening was spent discussing the success of the night attack with Eothian, and then the second campaign, which would come with the dawn, riding on the crest of fear orcs have of daylight, hitting them even harder for it.

"They are afraid," Eothian said. "Even at night, they scatter when we press against their ranks, spit and howl when they're cornered. The hardest part come tomorrow will be tracking them through Fangorn. But then . . . "

Eomer sighed, hearing the words left unsaid. The forest was a treacherous place, and would certainly do the orcs in if they tried to make camp there for long. The much easier thing would be to pull back and keep watch on the outskirts of the thickest foliage, picking them off from a distance. It would take time, but save his men from any further, and unnecessary, death. It was sloppy, though, and Eomer was nothing if not thorough in his campaigns.

"I don't suppose our little friend has a name?" asked Eomer.

"Pit or Pip, something like that," said Eothian. "His friend was yelling it as he was carried off, sadly."

Eomer nodded and had the creature brought to him, to eat with him in his tent. The little thing was charming, and that, combined with the certain victory, lifted Eomer's spirits. Soon he was laughing softly as Pippin, as that was his name, spoke of his home, the feasts they had there, and insisted on teaching him the words to his people's drinking song. One would be hardly guess that the little thing been the captive of orcs for the past week, his spirits were so.

"And what did orcs hope to accomplish by taking you and your friend?"

"I don't know," said Pippin. "A whole army of them came on Merry and I, they were going somewhere in a hurry, and I guess we were in their way. We traveled with men like yourself, but our companions couldn't stop them. I - I heard some of the orcs talking. They planned to deliver us to their leader in Isengard, I think. But I don't know why."

Pippin was lying about that, Eomer was certain, but that was a relief to know. It made him more sure of the hobbit's earlier sincerity: he was captured, as was his friend. This was not an orc spy or trap. It was a sad, little homesick hobbit with secrets.

Suddenly, the heartiness and charm of the hobbit went quite cold. He was very solemn as he continued. "It will be the end of my friend if they take him to Isengard."

Eomer had expected no less. "And if we decide not to pursue them into the forest? You'll go in alone?"

"Of course," Pippin said, and didn't look particularly happy, or even brave about it. He looked like he dreaded the prospect; this was no boasting, nor bragging. It simply was.

"Very well," Eomer said, finally at peace with how his campaign would end. "I will rest now, and in the morning, we will strike the orcs to the earth, and follow any that run as deep as I dare. I doubt that it will be a day that we need to call upon the heroics of a halfling."

Pippin nodded his thanks and was escorted elsewhere in camp, where he slept among the men who had already seen their share of battle, and slept still when Eomer took off at first light of dawn.

The orcs were prepared for the second attack, but it did them little good. Only a handful of orcs escaped the purge, and Eomer was still high on the battle, chasing them into the Fangorn was second nature, and his men followed with a great holler, dispatching of the running, squealing orcs, one after another as they ran deep and quick through the foliage.

He returned to camp by noon.

"What is this?" Eomer asked. The three strangers at his camp made such a strange sight it was impossible to overlook; a dwarf, an elf and a man from the north. Eomer did not reach for his sword upon seeing the manner in which Pippin was speaking to them, enthuastically and without fear, which spoke of the group's intentions, as far as it could go - the hobbit was without guile and would not be speaking so comfortably with dishonorable men, Eomer was fairly certain.

"I must thank you for taking in my friend," said the man, placing a hand on the hobbit's small shoulder. "My companions and I had been searching for him for quite some time."

"Perhaps in the future, you and your companions will take better care of your hobbit friends," Eomer said. "I assume you're searching for the other halfling as well."

"What happened?" asked Pippin, clearly suspecting the worst.

Eomer sighed, and told them: The orcs had set up a second camp, deep in the forest, ripping trees from their roots to clear the way, the fires burning black smoke as they burned through still green branches. This is where they held the second hobbit, and they were disorganized and easily overrun, with only tens of orcs keeping guard. Eomer and his men crushed through, but the awful things had a nazgul. In a way it was lucky that the nazgul had no interest in fighting, at least one rider of Rohan would've lost their life, for they had been so surprised by the sight. And yet, Eomer felt a keen sense of loss and failure that he had only arrived in time to see the nazgul take off into the air, what was clearly an unconscious hobbit being held tight to the chest of an orc.

"Your friend was out of our reach in moments," Eomer said, watching Pippin's reaction to this news; stunned grief. "It was headed to Isengard, that much was clear."

"Then we must also head to Isengard," said the dwarf. "That much is clear."

"Yes," Eomer said. "But I'm afraid you must take rest in Rohan's walls before moving on."

"Rest?" said the elf. "A courteous offer, but we must be on our way."

Eomer closed his eyes, pooling his strength and resolve. He was a man of Rohan and did not have the right to go against the king's wishes, despite how he may feel about it, and how futile the following fight would be. He was surprised when the human man of the north spoke instead.

"It is not a courtesy, and not an offer," said the man, after giving Eomer's face a searching look. "We will be required to visit the king's court and be properly introduced to the land. I'm afraid that now we have entered this far in, there will be no leaving until this has happened. Am I right, Eomer, son of Eomund?"

Eomer stared at the stranger who was apparently not a stranger at all, quite stunned, but was unable to place his face. The man had royal baring, that much was unmistakable, but the kingdom from which he came, Eomer was at a loss. Finally, he cast the mystery aside. This law was not by his order, and by such, it did not matter how shaken he was by this stranger. He could do nothing about it.

"You are correct," said Eomer. "And you will find the nine hundred men of Rohan behind me have sworn an oath to insure as such."

He watched as the group tensed for battle, hands on their weapons. But then the man sighed, and raised his hands, and his companions followed his lead, though looked sore about it.

"But - what about Merry? What's going to happen to him? What's happening to him right now, when we could be coming to his rescue?" Pippin said, eyes moving to each of them in turn, looking for any sign of mercy. Eomer hardened his face, not allowing any of the permissiveness and regret he carried heavy in his chest show. If Pippin spotted such a thing it would only prove to be false hope.

He gave the strangers, who called themselves Legolas, Gimli and Strider, horses of their own to ride with them to Rohan. He kept the pace brisk and did not stop for breaks along with the rest of his men. It was nothing like the traditional victory march a campaign such as theirs merited.

Eomer held no hope for Pippin's friend. If the hobbit he had met was any indication, one would not last very long in Isengard, not after all that Saruman had turned it into.

And beyond that, he held very little hope for the elf and the dwarf and the man, for the king of Rohan had turned queer and hateful, and lethargic and unpredictable. Eomer was unsure of how this troop would be welcomed in court. They were a strange group, certainly, but Eomer sensed no hostility nor ill-will in them and loathed to be leading men with no evil purpose to possible doom, or delay them on their quest, and loathed what had become of his king, and his kingdom.

Eomer nodded to the gate keepers and to the doorward, and quickly ushered his companions into the court, which was empty and cold and had a distinct air of misery that Eomer only truly sensed when he had gone and forgotten the feel, like an awful scent one becomes accustomed to over time.

"I bring news of victory, your majesty," said Eomer, bending to one knee before his king. "We have cleared the hills until and through Fargorn."

King Theoden nodded and sighed and that was all. It was a passive day for the king, which boded well for the strange group.

"I introduce four that we met during our travel. Strider, a ranger from the north. He has traveled here with Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas, son of Thranduil," Eomer said. "They came for Peregrin Took of the shire, who had been taken by the orcs and rescued by your men. They ask for passage through Rohan."

The king raised and dropped his hand as though this was a tiring thing. "Strange. A strange party."

Wormtongue, who had been sitting on the steps placidly, raised piercing, dark eyes at the hobbit, eying him carefully still even as he stood and moved to King Theoden's side.

"Strange indeed," said Wormtongue. "Strange and worrying. What business does Peregrin Took of the shire have with orcs? Why has he brought this business to Rohan?"

"I have no business with orcs!" said Pippin, voice so sudden and sharp it the king raised his head to look, keenly, at the hobbit. Eomer felt hope, briefly, that his king and father had returned, the strangeness of the hobbit bringing clarity to his clouded eyes. But it was gone almost as quickly as it had arrived.

"Orcs eat their captives, and burn the rest," said Wormtongue. "Anything else must be an orc spy, and an orc spy would only travel with men and dwarfs and elves who also partied with orcs."

"Enough!" Strider said. "Would the king not speak for himself?"

"To the dungeon," said King Theoden, and there was no further discussion on the matter.

There was a feast of victory, lasting deep into the night, and though Eomer ate with his men, he did not drink nor smoke, too bothered by King Theoden's manner. It was impossible to look at the man, or think of the man, without feeling a profound sense of loss and frustration. Perhaps the man who had raised Eomer and his sister as though they were his own children had never existed, perhaps it was childish eyes that saw a sluggish, cloudy eyed man as wise, and just, and strong.

He did not sleep well that night, and awoke from a sudden nightmare of a hobbit, what he imagined to be Pippin's friend, Merry, crying, bleeding and shaking at the feet of King Theoden's throne, only for the king to stare past and beyond, offering no mercy.

So disturbed by this vision, Eomer could not sleep again. Not yet dawn, Eomer began pacing the walls of Rohan, staring off into her empty fields as he went, as though he anticipated a great predator to appear. Indeed, something did appear. Not an army of orcs nor monster, but a man astride a white horse, moving at an unnaturally quick pace, at speed Eomer had only seen before in birds, diving through the air once its spotted prey. It was Sarumon, surely, and Eomer hurried to the edge of the wall, to sound the alarm. But at the last moment he hesitated, and it was a feeling alone, one he could not explain. Rarely was Eomer so lenient to inexplicable urges, but as he allowed the rider to move closer and closer, the reason for feeling became clear. It was not Sarumon.

"Ho! Gandalf!" greeted Eomer warmly, gesturing for the gates to be opened. "Please, a friend is a welcome sight in Rohan in such times."

"Eomer," said Gandalf, dismounting from his most impressive steed. "Tell me, have you seen a party of three traveling this way?"

"A man, an elf and a dwarf?" said Eomer. "Yes, they reside in the bowels of Rohan's dungeons as we speak, along with a halfling."

"Dungeons!" said Gandalf, moving quick toward the castle, so quick that Eomer found himself hurrying his own stride. "I would ask why, but I'm afraid I already know the answer. Could King Theoden really be so far gone?"

Eomer said nothing, for his thoughts were treasonous.

"Sunlight breaks over the hill. Will King Theoden's court be open?"

"Yes, he sits on his throne at first light."

There seemed to be no questioning Gandalf, and his passion swept Eomer up and through the doors of court, moving swift and straight at his side, as though he was the old wizard's cohort.

"King Theoden," said Gandalf, bringing light into the court the likes of which Eomer had not seen in years. "We have no time. The four you imprisoned yesterday. They are my companions and I vouch for them. Will you not release them so we may be on our way?"

Wormtongue, who had been startled firmly awake by Gandalf's entrance, was now quivering with disgust and fear as he stared at the wizard, nothing like the slick snake Eomer was used to seeing. "Gandalf - such a sight is not welcome in Rohan - "

"Enough!" Gandalf roared, silencing Wormtongue, and perhaps even Rohan and the world itself. "Theoden, son of Thengel, you will hear reason with your own ears and speak your mind with your own tongue!"

Eomer watched with some wonder as the king stood, with some difficulty, difficulty that eased with each moment.

Wormtongue stumbled back, to his knees. "King - my king -"

"You will leave, rodent!" Gandalf said, still speaking in a voice that could cow thunder itself. "You will scurry away now while you still have the chance!"

Wormtongue hesitated only a moment, then indeed was scurrying, toward the doors and down the steps of the court.

Eowyn, summoned by the ruckus, paused in the entrance for the court but for a moment, staring after the fleeing man, before her eyes fell upon Theoden, who was looking about the room as if taking it in for the first time. She rushed to his side, and Eomer, shaken free of his stupor, was quick to follow.

"My king," Eowyn wept softly, and Eomer could have wept himself for the warmth and recognition that touched Theoden's face when he looked upon the two of them.

"My lad," said King Theoden, and gripped Eomer's shoulder with a sure, strong hand.

"Please, Theoden," said Gandalf. "We haven't much time."

Aragorn, as was Strider's true name, Legolas, Gimli and Pippin were released. There was much to say, and much to learn about the party's true purpose, but the first thing spoken of was from the hobbit - "They've taken Merry," said Pippin, before anything else.

"Yes, I had heard that a hobbit had fallen into Sauron's hands and feared as much, though feared deeper that it was Frodo himself," said Gandalf.

Eomer and King Theoden soon learned why Gandalf feared as such. Halflings themselves were a thing of children's stories, so the story that followed was a strange and marvelous one, though Eomer would've liked it a good deal more if it were just that; fake, a fable written to delight and embolden children.

"I have no doubt in your intentions," said King Theoden. "But worry that you yourselves have become victims of a clever trick. A most cunning wizard would do his best to distract his foe before making such a campaign against middle earth."

"The ring is real, as surely as you are your father's son," said Gandalf. "Still, we must move as quickly as allowed, regardless of anything else. I will answer any questions and offer as much proof as required on our return. Please, to the stables. We travel light, no other men that what we need," Gandalf said. "Pippin, I'm afraid, must wait here for our return."

"I believe he might actually run after us if given no other option," Legolas said softly.

"Then he must be placed back in the dungeon," said Gandalf, sternly. "What we may see is not fit for any hobbit."

Pippin did indeed protest, and it was a mighty protest, if it were anyone else but Gandalf setting the order Eomer might have relented.

They traveled quick and noiseless to Isengard, and what a sight greeted them but pure destruction. Fire, and flooded lands, the immense tower that stood above it all seemed hardly majestic nor imposing, but out of place.

"Saruman!" Gandalf called. "Show yourself! Show us the prisoner you unjustly took!"

"Unjust?" repeated Saruman, and Eomer couldn't help but sneer at the sound of his voice. "I will show you what remains, if that should appease the mighty Gandalf."

The wizard, from atop the tower, dropped something small. "He lasted a remarkable amount of time, for a halfling," he said, as Gandalf bent to retrieve the object, which Eomer noticed was a pale pink, flesh color first, then the shape of it: an impossibly small hand.

"Poor child," Saruman said, almost regretfully. "It was cruel, Gandalf, to allow such a soft thing to toddle into the wild with such a burden. To send him so ill-prepared, to such a sharp, ripping fate. He told us everything, of course. By the end he was delirious, confused. He was apologizing, begging me for forgiveness and mercy. He had forgotten his own name at that point, along with why he was in Isengard at all, and in so much pain. He cried for you, Gandalf, at first. Then for his friends, then for his kin."

"What have you done, Saruman?" Gandalf asked, staring at the hand resting in his own open palm. His voice was quiet, but reminded Eomer of hot steel, still glowing red from the fire.

"At that point we had no further use of his tongue," Saruman said. "And my orcs had been begging for a taste of something sweet. If you want to find the rest of your friend, perhaps you should cut open the distended guts of the orcs rotting at your feet. You might find an ear or toe to go along with the hand I saved you."

Gandalf nodded slowly, and Eomer could feel the atmosphere of the fellowship, it grew thick with disbelief, with anger, with sorrow. He could certainly understand, moments were all he had of his time with Pippin, but moments were all he needed to know hobbits were obviously a sweet, kind people, with harmless, childlike dispositions, and Eomer would feel a heavy burden of failure and sorrow if Pippin had fallen to such a fate under his care.

He was not surprised to hear the scratch of a metal sword freeing itself of a metal sheath, and braced himself, willing to join them in this battle, to avenge this fallen hobbit.

Gandalf raised his staff, however, stilling them. "Saruman." Finally, he looked upward toward his fellow wizard. "You have realized that you are not going to leave that tower alive. You can share the truth with us now, or let us discover it after you have passed."

"You hold the halfling's flesh in your hand, let there be no mistake," Saruman hissed.

"That, I do not doubt. However, you have use for his tongue. Very much so, if your story isn't made entirely of falsehoods," Gandalf said. "Tell me, did your orcs rise against you, overpower you, steal Merry from your grasp before you could finish your torture?"

Saruman's dark eyes narrowed, expression twisting it something ugly and monstrous. "Clumsy, Gandalf. I am not so easily tricked. But very well, I will humor you and defend my pride and give you this: I was not so sloppy, the orcs were under my control until the end. And you are correct, the halfling is alive, in a sense. What has become of him, I cannot say. Demented as you may think I have become, I am still not as demented as an orc making sport of helpless, kicking prey."

Without a word, Gandalf lowered his staff. Legolas's arrow flew immediate, fast and true, then a second, and a third, and Sarumon's body was pierced, and fell.

They moved from Isengard in silence, until finally the wizard spoke, loud and sure:

"In terms of the movement of the ring, this is not such a blow. Thankfully, with Frodo's breaking of the fellowship, Merry did not know much beyond the fact that a hobbit holds the ring. Sauron was already in pursuit of a hobbit. That he knows the ring is on a path to its own destruction is something I'd rather was a secret, but Sauron will gain no special insight into Frodo's location from this. His need to find the ring may grow stronger than his attempt to conquer Middle Earth, which could be in our favor in battles yet to come," Gandalf said. "Armies of orcs scouring Middle Earth from back to front are not going to be much help in locating Frodo, and are preferable to them storming Gondor."

"Not much help?" Gimli asked.

"I should think an army searching for Frodo would be some level of help to Sauron," Legolas said. "And some level of worry on our part."

"This is not an army of elf nor dwarf nor man. Orcs are meant for the battlefield, not a hunting party. They're sloppy and impatient in detail work, their senses are dull except for sniffing out the scent of blood, a clever child could hide from or sneak by a horde of orcs, let alone a hobbit. Spreading them so thin also makes them an easy target for enemies of Sauron. It's why Sauron's been using the Ringwraiths to find the ring begin with. Regardless. There is still a matter of Merry himself."

"Yes," Legolas agreed, grimly, lowering his gaze to where the small hand had hit the ground.

"My dear Legolas, I am referring to Merry in terms of the ring, not Merry in terms of the hobbit himself, with which I share your grief. But," Gandalf sighed heavily. "Should Sauron decide to simply place an army of orcs at the foot of Mount Doom and guarding every rock along the way up to its peak, we could press him with numbers, we could simply force our way through. However," Gandalf said. "There is no force which could keep Frodo from choosing destroying the ring over the safety of his kin."

"Surely he'll realize the necessity," Eomer said. "I would jump in myself to rid the world of that curse."

"Realize, yes. But Frodo is no soldier, Eomer," Gandalf said. "The same simplicity that led to Frodo accepting this task despite 'realizing' the risks and dangers is the same simplicity that will doom it to failure if Sauron sets the choice between Merry or the ring. Even if Merry himself has enough sanity left to beg otherwise."

"Will Sauron?" Aragorn asked. "Will he be able to read Frodo well enough to do this?"

"It's possible . . . possible that after so many centuries, Sauron has become so muted and numb to human connection that he would not be able to identify this weakness presented to him. However the fact that Merry is still alive at all suggests that he has, and I will not risk assuming otherwise. It is imperative that Frodo be saved from such a decision," Gandalf said. "Merry _must_ be pulled out of Mordor."

"A task I gladly bare," said Gimli.

"And I," said Legolas.

"It's the quest we had taken since the breaking of the fellowship," Aragorn said. "And that quest is only half done."

"I am not so sure," Gandalf muttered, staring at Aragorn carefully, then trailing off. "You might be needed elsewhere. But let us first return to Rohan, properly greet our hosts, eat, and share what we know with those it concerns."

.

.

.

.


End file.
